Writing Exercise #4 - No words with More than Seven Letters
Title: One in a PI
I live not captive; I'm free to roam,
Under my accord I scour a world and hoard,
Gather, scrape and tour; an Earth covered in gold,
A master of worth who found rubbish is riches in dirt,
A foul stench is heaven for my nasally bowels,
A work ethic allows bitter sweet in a mouth,
But the catch 22; I feed what I reap to a crown,
By choice, I supply young food by the pound,
A foot soldier, draped in cap and gown,
Hard headed yet witty, a perfect blend for my city,
Robust and minute, I simply live non recluse,
I'm social and conform in a storm as family ties are induced,
I fight and I train; I hunt and I raise,
Nurture and further babes until they're linked to our chain,
We train and survive, build with mud that has dried,
Sweat hits dust and absorbs our heart and our pride,
A five star castle isn’t even close to exempt
My kin and I don't intend to sully your name or offend,
But your trash is a gem, hidden then tossed in a bin,
The circle of life is intense, Hunger is a pyramid of events,
We accept; rather praise, the valiant deaths of our men,
If you lucky and just hurt, I'd carry you through the rain,
The acid drops from a spout on every inch of terrain,
My burning lungs might strain, but as a people we love,
It just sucks; one boot can turn a million of us to dust,
And the Raid!! Oh the Raid! I know my death isn't vain
Because I lived so my people could build a block and sustain.
Please let me explain;
you have halos and wings,
But my colony is all I need...
It's a dream of dreams.
-----------------------------------------
Writing Exercise #3: Non est factum: Latin for "it is not my deed"
I'd sign my life away to change a piece of mind,
At least a peace in soul could construct a word of gold,
Bond verbs with lymph nodes and release designs,
I speak in hymns of crimes, preach to clear the blind,
I think a verse is primed to administer the miniscule,
Divide and conquer ants with written visuals,
A spirtual minister verse those –
So, Vile monsters,
Complex congress with confused subconscious,
Converse progress...
The blind leading our medicinal iris,
These habitual hybrids lying with open eyelids,
Never turning cheek from crises,
In fact the agency contrived it,
But I digress – The case in point is complex,
And I devised it.
Disguised in Hancocks, inkwells and cursive,
My locks jelled, slicked back with purpose,
See my serpent tongue has a certain way to think of fun,
And my objective is a gun – The red dot, glares down the sun,
I'd gladly give my life to change a piece of mind,
Sign the flat line for just a little peace and time,
Paint a smile gland to gland for every dead man,
If they could rise from quick sand,
From every cemetery in my homeland,
The white military crosses would disband,
and every soldier would push dirt and just stand.
I mean God Damn! Every action has a reaction,
But petroleum has the white man living lavish,
His passion's so tragic, a yacht to dispose black gold in Atlantis,
His specific goal? To erode a bloodline into ashes,
As it floats to outer core and demolishes the atmos...
I fear it's true, our seeds never stood a chance,
Born in a world with a mixed up thesis,
where Jesus isn't as popular as Kim's romance,
As the chick who holds Bieber in slow dance
As popular as the dirt on my two vans,
Unpopular to the young populace in today's land.
See, I'd gladly sign my life on a lease if I could at least,
Sacrifice a piece of my soul for a piece of world peace,
but the world encapsulates the demons in my wake,
As I lie wide awake, breathing fire I intake,
I'm distinguished for Christs sake, disguised as Christs son,
But the world shrinks, adding more peeps,
And the average is as evil as I think.
So my eye winks, as I write in disguised tongue,
Formulating schemes as The Reverends son,
You ask what am I trying to say,
“I'd gladly give my life so tomorrow could be a better day”,
Draw up the contract, I'll put my name on the line,
Write between bars if you can read between mine,
this art's my constant, restraint in notes,
I write so goose bumps can be the braille to explain my soul,
All I’m saying is,
If my death can cure this world, give me the deed,
Hang me as “T”,
Stab my abdomen with a javelin and rest me in peace..
Oh wait...
Am I stupefied?
Or,
Has someone else been crucified?